


mortui vivos docent

by swampslip



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, let the cowboys cry, this is about eliza and isaac and the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27846678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampslip/pseuds/swampslip
Summary: “Don’t look at me like that,”  Arthur mumbles half-heartedly and shoves at John’s shoulder before grabbing and re-gripping the fabric, a bit of desperation in his actions.Like he regretted pushing away John so quickly he had to immediately reverse the action, pull the younger man back closer, again.“I’ll be fine,” Arthur whispers.“But you ain’t, right now,” John says slowly.“... You know people die around us,” Arthur whispers, “I thought… I thought keepin’ them away, just bringin’ ‘em money when I could, seein’ ‘em… Maybe when Isaac is…”Arthur trails off and makes a weak, feeble sound, sniffing sharply and rubbing at his eyes again.“Maybe if he’d grown up a bit, could show him some stuff, teach them how to keep himself, and Eliza,safe,”Arthur trails off and closes his eyes, “Don’t get the chance now.”
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	mortui vivos docent

John blinks as he steps back into his tent from bathing and finds Arthur sitting on a second bedroll. 

"... Arthur?" John asks slowly, "Somethin' wrong?"

Arthur takes in a shuddering breath and when his hand drops from his face his eyes are wet. 

"When'd you get back?" John asks instead of addressing the obvious. 

Arthur had been gone, visiting that woman and kid of his, like he did every couple months when they strayed close to where her home was. 

"Not long ago," Arthur says and his voice is ripped hoarse, like he'd been screaming and sobbing and with the look in his eye-

Despite everything John knows of Arthur, despite all the older man's strength and collectedness-

He's not sure if that's too far from the truth. 

John feels the tension like a bear trap between them, steps into the tent and lets the flap close behind him. 

"You come in too late to eat?" John asks as he sets his washing things on the little table, "Want me to grab you somethin' from the rations?" 

"I'm… I ain't hungry," Arthur mutters roughly then seems to shy from that anger a bit, "... Thanks."

"... There's another tent in the supplies if you wanna-" John stops and trails off at the pinched, desperate look on Arthur's face, "Hey…"

"'M sorry," Arthur says hoarsely, "Shoulda asked if this was-" 

Arthur starts to stand and John moves quickly, intercepting the older man and grabbing Arthur's shoulders, squeezing. 

Slowly dropping himself down to kneel, between Arthur and the exit. 

"I'm not mad, just makin' the option known," John says gently, "It's fine, I don't mind."

Arthur breathes out unsteadily once again then reaches across himself and squeezes John's hand on his shoulder. 

"... You ain't hungry, you want somethin' to drink?"

"No, no… Just…" Arthur laughs weakly and brings his other hand up to press against his mouth and this close John can see the older man's eyes watering. 

"Christ, Arthur," John whispers and sits a little heavier in front of the older man, he hadn’t been expecting to stay down here but now with Arthur gripping his hand like a lifeline… 

“They was shot,” Arthur whispers, rubbing at his mouth and beard and jaw then covering his eyes, “Robbed.”

John can see tears escaping down the older man’s cheeks despite Arthur’s attempt to hide them. 

He’s seen Arthur cry, a couple times, mostly in pain-

Never in grief, not like _this_. 

“Sorry,” Arthur whispers again and John squeezes his shoulder then turns their hands and slowly tangles their fingers, bringing their hands down between them, “Don’t mean to come in here n’ fuss-

“Arthur, shut up,” John says quietly and surprisingly the older man does. 

Taking in a shaky breath, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve then looking down at their hands. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say, here,” John mumbles and squeezes Arthur’s hand. 

“Nothin’ll change it,” Arthur whispers, “Nothin’, they’re dead.”

John’s chest aches sharply and he shuffles closer, tentatively wrapping his free arm behind Arthur’s shoulders, kneeling between the older man’s legs. 

Arthur breaks like an old, worn-out rope, he snaps and recoils then surges into the tension and buries himself against John. 

Body wracked with silent sobs and trembling between each, his fingers gripping for purchase along the back of John’s shirt and John stays quiet. 

Leans his face down and presses into Arthur’s shoulder, staring at the canvas of the tent behind the older man. 

He feels a bit useless, but Arthur… 

Arthur came to _him_ , of all people, the least he can do is let the older man cry on his shoulder. 

They’ve been the other way ‘round a dozen times, though not in years. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says thickly, pulls back and wipes at his face roughly, pinching the dampened fabric up off John’s chest, “Shit, look at the _mess_ -”

“Arthur,” John murmurs and moves his hand up to the back of Arthur’s neck, like he’s seen Dutch do sometimes, “It’s a shirt.”

“I know but it’s all-”

“It’s a _shirt_ , Morgan,” John says firmly then softens when Arthur inhales a bit sharply, “I don’t even like this shirt.”

Arthur lets slip a weak, surprised laugh, smoothing the fabric back down and leaving his hand there, as the amusement falls out of his expression and he again he just looks devastated. 

“Can I do… Anythin’?” John asks quietly and he knows he’s probably useless here, and that nothing he can think of to say would help-

“I know I… I already brought all my shit in here,” Arthur mutters roughly, “S’alright if I stay with you for a bit?”

“Yeah,” John says quietly, an easy agreement. 

He doesn’t know why, exactly, Arthur wants to be with _him_ , of everyone. 

John leans a bit to the side, studying the older man for some answer to that. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Arthur mumbles half-heartedly and shoves at John’s shoulder before grabbing and re-gripping the fabric, a bit of desperation in his actions. 

Like he regretted pushing away John so quickly he had to immediately reverse the action, pull the younger man back closer, again. 

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur whispers. 

“But you ain’t, right now,” John says slowly.

“... You know people die around us,” Arthur whispers, “I thought… I thought keepin’ them away, just bringin’ ‘em money when I could, seein’ ‘em… Maybe when Isaac is…”

Arthur trails off and makes a weak, feeble sound, sniffing sharply and rubbing at his eyes again. 

“Maybe if he’d grown up a bit, could show him some stuff, teach them how to keep himself, and Eliza, _safe_ ,” Arthur trails off and closes his eyes, “Don’t get the chance now.”

“I’m sorry,” John says carefully and he doesn’t know what else to say, again, and he’s sure Dutch or Hosea would be able to say _something_ , with that lived experience of theirs, more than twice as much as John. 

Arthur breathes out heavily and slowly manages to let go of John’s shirt, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

“Sorry for… Figured you were on your way to bed when you came in-” Arthur swallows and gestures towards the other half of the ten where John’s stuff is. 

“Do…” John shifts and sets one hand on Arthur’s knee, squeezing lightly, like he’s seen Hosea do, “Do you wanna share, tonight?”

Arthur blinks down at his hands then lifts his eyes to John’s, tentative. 

John doesn’t usually lead this, if either of them needs it, Arthur would just drag him into a bed and half-smother him for the joke of it, until they both settled, slept better with the comfort of someone you trust with your everything so close. 

“If you want,” John says slowly, “We can.”

“Do you want to?” Arthur asks hoarsely, “Or are you just offerin’ for my-”

“Arthur,” John says roughly and digs his fingertips into the older man’s knee, “I want to, because I think you need it, and I want to help… I wanna _help_ , yeah?”

“... Yeah,” Arthur mumbles. 

“C’mon, let’s push ‘em together,” John stands and Arthur does as well and they rearrange everything so the two bedrolls are flush, to one side of the tent, bringing their blankets together, a lantern just in case. 

John shoves off his boots and tosses them into one corner with Arthur’s before bullying Arthur into laying down against the canvas, John settling to box him in. 

It’s a reverse of their usual, when John feels scared Arthur is the one who takes the position, a shield between him and the rest of the world. 

He knows Arthur knows. 

“You don’t gotta-”

“Let me,” John mumbles and shifts a little closer, “I can protect you, you know I can.”

“... I’m not doubtin’ that you-”

“Then _let_ _me_ , Arthur,” John reaches out and finds Arthur’s hand, guides it around his waist because he doesn’t feel like dealing with Arthur’s hesitance in asking for what he wants or needs, “Let me protect _you_ , for once.”

He hears Arthur swallow loudly then the older man settles down, presses closer, grabs at the back of John’s shirt and tucks his face under John’s chin. 

“Feel like a kid,” Arthur mutters bitterly, “All snotty and scared of the dark.”

“S’not childish, I don’t think,” John murmurs, “You seen Hosea and Dutch cry before, right?”

“Right,” Arthur whispers. 

“We don’t really talk ‘bout these kinda things,” John says quietly, bringing a hand up and absently playing with Arthur’s collar. 

“What?”

“... Bein’ sad.”

“Well, we’re grown,” Arthur murmurs, “S’not somethin’ to dwell on.”

“You know that’s-” John sighs roughly and pulls Arthur closer to him, “S’stupid, it all is.”

“Mm?”

“Life, ‘society’,” John says, mimicking Dutch and Arthur’s body shifts against him when the older man snorts. 

“S’not like we can change that, John, we just run from it anyhow.”

“I know.”

“What are you sayin’ then?”

“I dunno.”

And Arthur huffs a laugh and his palm flattens against John’s spine and he slowly goes still, silent. 

John fidgets with Arthur’s collar and closes his eyes tightly, focusing on the older man’s slow breathing. 

“Don’t die,” Arthur whispers, “Not ‘fore I do.”

“I can’t promise-”

“John… Please?”

“Arthur, you know I don’t-”

“ _Please_ ,” Arthur whispers. 

“Alright, Christ,” John mutters, “You’ll die first. Happy?”

“Not really,” Arthur mumbles but he squeezes John. 

John shakes his head and grimaces before pressing his cheek harder to Arthur’s crown. 

“Maybe we can learn somethin’ from dead men,” John mumbles. 

“Hm?”

“Sure Dutch’d say somethin’ ‘bout livin’ honest,” John says softly, “Not wastin’ time.”

Arthur doesn’t reply, just gradually gets heavier against John. 

“Dunno how honest we can be, men like us,” John whispers into Arthur’s hair. 


End file.
